Page 5 of Praise Me: Pilot
“No, you don’t,” I whisper, hit by unexpected pressure in my chest. The backs of my eyelids burn with unshed tears of frustration. “No one wants to be here with me.”
“He did a number on you, didn’t he, angel?” mutters Joel, slowly pulling my face into his chest, his huge arms wrapping around me, holding me tight. It’s exactly what I need. I need a hug so badly, I almost moan at the crushing sensation. Thesafety that floods me. “We’re going to go in there and have a nice dinner. And you’re going to keep your eighteen-year-old hands to yourself. I’m thirty-goddamn-two, Haylo. Your father is my best friend. No more flirting or teasing or playing games. I’ve got my honor, and I plan on keeping it, no matter how…”
“No matter how, what?” I whisper, holding my breath.
Briefly, his gaze dances to my mouth, before he looks away resolutely. “No matter how fucking beautiful you are. It’s not happening.”
I might have listened. I might have obeyed that stern warning, if the back of my hand didn’t accidentally brush the rock-hard pillar behind his fly, revealing the proof of his attraction. Our mutual attraction, if I’m being honest with myself. Relieved no one can see me, I grasp that heavy hammer of flesh and stroke it through his pants, enjoying the judder of his breath, the glazing of his golden eyes. “Whatever you say, Daddy.”
CHAPTER 3
Joel
Iam sweating through my fucking clothes.
Somehow, I managed to peel Haylo’s exploring hand off my dick and drag her inside to the dinner table. Now, despite being hornier than a frat boy on spring break, I am determined to get this association back on track. She’s upset and confused and acting out. That’s why she touched me. That’s why she said those things to me.
I’m sure we can find a nice fit.
Maybe I’ll just call you Daddy and really confuse everyone.
The smart thing to do would be leave, but no. I meant what I said. I’m not leaving her when she’s feeling abandoned and vulnerable like this. Problem is, her feeling abandoned and vulnerable are the exact reasons she’s coming onto me.
Get through dinner. Make Haylo feel less alone. Supported.
Then go back to the hotel and jack myself off.
A few seconds of her light massage and my nuts are already in a stranglehold.
Because it was her. There’s something abouther.If circumstances were different and Haylo was a different girl, both parents in attendance, I’d still be staring into her green eyes. I’d still be sniffing the air for any hint of her pussy’s sweetness. I’d still be hard as fuck watching her naked thighs cross under the table beside me.
She crooks her finger at me, and I lean to the right, against my better judgment. “My legs aren’t on the dinner menu,” she pouts, reaching over to fix my collar.
“That’s…good,” I say raggedly, taking a desperate sip of water. In doing so, I catch the eye of the man across from me. His curious gaze is skittering back and forth between me and Haylo, obviously trying to figure out the nature of our relationship. I shut down any question in advance with a dark look and renew my determination to redirect the sexual energy between me and Haylo. “Talk to me about school. What are you studying?”
The man across from me “accidentally” elbows his napkin off the table, and when he leans down to pick it up, I know he’s doing it to gawk at Haylo’s thighs. To make a desperate attempt to see her panties beneath the table.
I don’t think. At all. I simply grip the edge of her chair and yank sideways until her side is pressed to mine. I drape a napkin across her lap and cover as much of her legs as possible, then I take hold of the back of her chair, shifting to face her. Protectively. It’s all instinctive, start to finish, and the crazy part is, I’m holding back. If she wasn’t my best friend’s daughter, she’d be in my lap right now.
“Um…” A blush spreads across the plump tops of her tits, and she tucks that moonbeam-colored hair behind her ear, her elbow brushing down the center of my pecs. We’re at a long table full of three dozen people, and I swear, I can still hear my heart over the loud conversations. It’s booming in my ears. She smellslike an ocean breeze at night. “You asked me what I study. I’m a psych major,” Haylo says, peeking up at me. “Someday I want to work in grief counseling.”
The fingers of my hand that is positioned at the back of her chair make contact with the bare skin of her back, an intuitive need to comfort. “Because of what you went through with your mother.”
Her green eyes flicker with surprise. “My father talked to you about her?”
I nod.
“Wow. He never talks to me about her.” She takes a breath, looking thoughtful. “It actually makes me feel better knowing he didn’t forget. That he reminisces withsomeone.”
“He didn’t forget.”
A wry smile plays on her mouth. “He has a funny way of mourning.” She reaches for her water and takes a sip. “As you might have guessed, this isn’t the first time he dropped our plans so he could go play Casanova. As a student of the human psyche and how it copes with grief, I know he is likely running from his pain, trying to bury it in a blur of pleasure. But as a daughter…I find it really hard to be understanding about that. Maybe in the beginning, it was forgivable, but now…”
“One person’s pain doesn’t give them the right to cause it in someone else,” I say quietly, not wanting to throw my best friend under the bus, but needing to comfort and understand Haylo, all the same.
“Exactly.”
There’s a growing hunger inside of me to know everything about this girl, even though I should just keep the conversation surface level. I can’t. Not with her smell transferring to my clothes. Her incredible eyes searching mine. Her body so close to mine, I can’t stop the images from bombarding me. Me, lifting her onto the table and peeling that tank top down slowly to suckher nipples. “He says you’re a sensitive person,” I rasp. “Is that true?”
